28 March 2009

It’s really easy if you’re alive right now (and chances are if you’re reading this that you are) to think that people who lived in Olden Days were just quiet and weird and almost imaginary. They stare back at us from daguerreutypes like dorks with no sense of stage presence after all, and they seem never to have known what to do with their hair. They look like they must have had the most boring lives just dragging plows back and forth, beating rugs with a stick and building the occasional railroad.

But scratch the surface a little bit and you find out that people back in The Day were outrageous freaks.

Take this guy for instance:

This is Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, better known just by his last name, Rasputin

Raz was a psychic and a mystic. Apparently his father, Efim was as well but the only report I can find anywhere about Efim was that he once “mysteriously” identified the man who had stolen one of his horses (could it be because the man was standing in front of the horse? We’ll never know).

Supposedly a photo of Rasputin’s family when he was growing up. They look like a fun bunch, don’t they?

But what Raz could do was a little more impressive. He was a mystic and a psychic and quite a wild party guy. He was busy exploring mysticism and having orgies with his friends building quite the reputation for himself. He became known as a healer and when Tsarista Aleksandra Romanova needed some assistance with her son Alexei’s hemophilia (one of the perks of years of inbreeding), she rang Rasputin immediately. Or however people contacted each other pre-phone.

Tsarista.....Not to be confused with "Barista"

Apparently Rasputin worked magical wonders on little Alexei and Rasputin soon became a Romanov favorite.

Alexei - Cured by a man with mystic abilities and aspirin.

Unfortunately, some people didn’t like Rasputin because they thought he was giving the Romanovs a bad name, other people didn’t like the Romanovs at all and everyone freaked out for various reasons and things got messy and Rasputin was murdered.

Apparently these people used to get together with Rasputin and have orgies.

The story goes that he was poisoned, then beaten then drowned in a river (apparently it takes a lot of work to kill a Russian Mystic) and somewhere during all this someone cut off his penis and chucked it across the room, which is understandable I guess given all the commotion.

So here’s where it gets weird: Rasputin’s housemaid (who was also apparently his lover) happened upon the aftermath of the murder, found The Penis, took it away and hid it. As you do.

A few years later some Russian ex-pats living in Paris acquired The Penis and started a cult around it. This is the sort of activity people got up to in the days before television.

Then in the 1920's somehow Rasputin’s daughter Maria Rasputin found out about the cult and demanded they give her father’s penis to her as it was rightfully hers.

Maria Rasputin: Guardian of her father’s penis until she died.

Up until that point, the penis had been kept in a wooden casket, but now it was deposited into a pickle jar and presumably kept in Maria’s house.

Rasputin’s penis, kept by his daughter until her death in 1977. Hello? Dr. Freud?

Meanwhile Maria moved to America where she had all sorts of jobs, including a stint as a circus acrobat, and during all this time apparently no one thought to ask what That Thing on the bookshelf was. In her later years Maria became a writer and made it her life's mission to prove to the world that her father wasn't weird.......As it sat there.......

Maria, must we all look at that THING?

Iz all I have to remember father by!

But should it really be on the table? While we're eating dinner?

Shut up. Iz conversation piece.

Maria was in possession of her father’s penis until her death in 1977. Some time after that a man called Michael Augustine bought it at a flea market in Santa Cruz (imagine his wife’s surprise when he returns from the flea market not with picture frames or old books, but an old Russian guy’s pickled penis). It’s at his point that the story gets convoluted and people start claiming that the thing in the jar isn’t a penis at all but actually a sea cucumber (??!).

Not a sea cucumber, but a land cucumber. Frankly real sea cucumbers look too much like Rasputin’s penis to be politely pictured here.

Then in 2004 a guy called Igor Knyazkin got ahold of The Penis (figuratively) and put it on display in his newly opened museum of erotica in St. Petersburg, Russia. Igor claims that men who look at it are cured of impotency. But there are thousands of detractors who still claim it's just a sea cucumber.

Which begs the question: Why would Maria have kept an old sea cucumber all those years? And better yet: What was a sea cucumber doing at the scene of Rasputin’s murder?.....

26 March 2009

In these troubling times as we head into what some economists are predicting will be a catastrophic worldwide collapse, you've got to keep your chin up. Things are going to be bad for a while and until WWIII comes along to lift us out of this mess we're going to have to fend for ourselves. We need to find innovative ways to make money. We need to be entrepreneurs. If capitalism has taught us anything it's that whoever makes the most money wins, no matter what they have to do to achieve it. With that in mind I've sought holes in the market and come up with some inventions that are sure to keep my family in designer clothes and blood diamonds for the remainder of this crisis.

BTW I am referring to this as "More Inventions" because I long ago posted another list of inventions on my blog. These things are automatically patented just by me publishing them on my blog, so don't try stealing anything! Especially the butt whistle! (I'll know!)

So here are my new inventions:

Vegan Clown Shoes

I was searching for clown shoes online the other day (don't ask) and while I noticed that happily there is a large selection of clown shoes available for purchase and delivery via the internet, they are sadly all made of leather. What are vegan clowns supposed to do? Now if you've kept up with my blog you'll know that I hate clowns. Yes I am "clownist" and proud of that fact. I would gladly have all clowns rounded up into camps and I don't care what that sounds like. But I happen to love their shoes. It is my personal feeling that clown shoes are fabulous and are simply wasted on clowns. If I could find decent vegan clown shoes I would wear them constantly because I would work the irony and do them justice. And that is why I'm inventing them. By the way it doesn't surprise me at all that there are no vegan clowns. Clowns are heartless bastards....

A Home Exorcism Kit

These could be sold at roadside kiosks near housing developments that have been built on Indian burial grounds and such. The kit would contain rosary beads, holy water, ear-plugs and a list of Hollywood production companies to contact with the story later.

I will publish this in a pocket size so it can be whipped out at the appropriate moment. Sure it will add even more awkwardness as the reader flips through the pages while leaning over a table to kiss 18 people at a party, but I feel that in itself will be making an important statement....

Grigori Rasputin Bed-in For Peace Bed Sheets

Grab Yoko Ono and a couple of Romanovs, wall yourself up in the Pokrovskoye Hilton, and have yourself a party!

23 March 2009

Today the Belgian pop group K3 (pronounced Kah Dree) announced that one of their members is leaving. K3 originally got their name because all three of their names started with the letter "K".......(and KKK was already taken).

Their fan base, whose ages averages between 5 and 8 are sure to take the news especially hard as they are not even old enough to find solace in drink.

And to think they once sang a song called Je hebt een vriend (You have a friend).

Ha! What lies! Apparently I have a friend until one of them decides they want to branch out into film! I've been through this before with The Spice Girls you know. Geri left and the rest kept right on dancing promising me that "friendship never ends" and it was all bullshit!

Now K3 are pulling the same crap and I just don't know what to believe in anymore.

And then there is the problem of what the remaining two K3 members should do. Hire a replacement? Call themselves K2 and resign themselves to singing to audiences of confused mountain climbers?

19 March 2009

Today I have a toothache. Because it is currently 2009 and not 1009, this means that it is a mild inconvenience I will have to endure until Monday when (by total coincidence) I already have an appointment set with the dentist. Meanwhile there are all sorts of aspirins and things I can take, and if none of that works there is a bar on my street corner. By contrast if this were 1009 my only choices would be to endure excruciating pain and a possible disfiguring facial infection or pop down to my local blacksmith (or Inquisitional torturer - whichever was handy) and have some greasy unwashed peasant pry my tooth out equipped only with a rudiment lead based tool and his unwashed hands. After the procedure I would not be coddled and given ice cream, but instead would be expected to immediately resume toiling in the potato fields or giving birth or possibly both at once.

All of this has got me pondering just what I would look like now if not for the modern world. I've been taking an inventory of all my past ailments; broken bones, teeth straightening, etc. and if not for the modern world I would be quite a different creature right now. My Medieval Self would certainly not have hair straighteners, or even hair conditioner for that matter, so my hair would be a tangled unwashed mess resembling and possibly functioning as a rat's nest. My eyebrows would be an unruly pre-historic looking nightmare and my eyes would be framed in wrinkles from all the squinting I would have had to do without contact lenses. And I most certainly would not smell like Chanel #5.

Can you imagine just how horrible everyone looked back in Medieval times? The only saving grace back then was that everyone was awful looking and bad smelling so you wouldn't feel like the odd one out. But here's the thing: If you did decide you'd had it with all that medieval muck and you started bathing regularly and washing your clothes and smelling nicely they would think you were up to something and burn you as a witch.

So with that in mind you wouldn't even bother and instead you'd just resign yourself to working in the fields covered in mud with an abscessed tooth.

And the moral of this blog entry is: When you put all the Global Warming, Worldwide Financial Collapse and Murderous Illuminati Oligarchs aside, the modern world isn't all that bad, is it?.....

17 March 2009

Tony is the most recent addition to our household. He's been with us for about three months but I haven't mentioned him yet because he was a wild street cat and has been taking a while to adjust. We've seen Tony around in our neighborhood for several years now. Occasionally we would bring him some food or offer a kind word which was always met with a hiss and a general bad attitude from Tony. But one particularly cold winter day Tony decided to come and visit us, we opened our window, he walked in, we slammed the window shut, and voila! Tony was our captive!

I'm sure there are all sorts of arguments that people might make in regard to us violating Tony's civil rights or even being in breach of the Geneva Convention in holding Tony against his will without even access to legal council, but it was very cold outside and he was very scruffy and hungry and we do truly believe that it was all For His Own Good.

The good news is that Tony has been acclimating very nicely and has calmed down quite a bit.

He enjoys sitting in the window like he owns the place.

And the other cats are starting to accept him.

He still won't let Wim anywhere near him and hisses whenever Wim so much as looks at him. But the best most wonderful thing is that he lets me pet him!!

There is NOTHING more validating than the feeling that you are the only person a grumpy cat will allow near him!....And yes I know it means that I'm horribly codependent but I don't care. I still feel super cool......

11 March 2009

I am not usually a fan of Modern Art. In fact I can’t stand it. Too many times I’ve been dragged out to see a modern art exhibition and ended up throwing a tantrum in front of a paper cup in a frame that the artist has given some fancy name to and is charging $12,000 for. “This isn’t art you assholes!" I scream, "Learn how to draw!” at which point I am dragged out of the building by Security and jailed for 3 months. .....OK, it hasn’t happened yet, but I’m quite certain that it’s just a matter of time. All you have to do to become a “Modern Artist” it seems is think up ways to be increasingly more annoying.

(The worst piece of "Modern Art" I have ever seen: A bathroom shelf with a glass of water on it called Oak Tree......FUCK OFF!!)

So this past week, I’ve had two Modern Art experiences and I have Good News and Bad News to report. First the Bad News: Modern art in it’s most banal form is alive and well at the S.M.A.K. Museum in Gent. We went there and saw canvas “paintings” in one solid color in red, blue and yellow; a slide projector which randomly projected different words such as “typewriter” or “alive” on the wall opposite it; and running films of plastic bags being blown about in the wind. PUH-LEEZE!! It’s this kind of Emperor’s New Clothes crap that keeps the so-called “Art Form” going, because it is SO daft that people think they’re just not “getting it” so they pretend that they are and these so-called “Artists” get lots of grants to create even worse stuff next season. Newsflash: There’s nothing to “get”! It’s a plastic bag! It’s impossible to feel an emotion over it! That emotion that you are feeling is homicidal rage that someone is actually being paid to produce this crap! The “Artist” would have made much better use of himself if he’d actually picked up the plastic bag and placed it over his head.

I’m not kidding you. If I had had a baseball bat and some lighter fluid with me it would have been a whole different afternoon.

OK. Now the Good News - There is one group of artists who know how to do Modern Art right: The Finns. As far as I’m concerned, Finnish people are the only ones who should be allowed to do Modern Art, and I don’t even care how fascist that sounds. Incase you aren’t aware, Finns are very odd people. I mean this in a good way. Perhaps it comes from living in a country encased in an iceberg with 14 minutes of sunshine per day (I’ve never been there, but this is what I assume): They have to find bizarre ways to entertain themselves and they do. Take as Exhibit A Finland’s entry in the 2006 song contest:

They are a band called Lordi and they won, thereby putting Finland (and half-decayed zombies) firmly in the forefront of European culture. See what I mean? And these were Establishment Finns!

So when I got an invitation from my lovely Finnish friend Mira to her Art Piece, I suppressed my natural aversion to Modern Art for the evening and I was not disappointed. My friend Anya and I walked through the streets of Gent until we found the flashy sign out front:

The show was called “Plan B” which I liked because it made me think that they had collectively scrapped their first idea for a show. Plan B is the fallback plan and therefore what is always planned all along.......am I reading too much meaning in?

We were greeted at the entrance by Mira dressed in some sort of futuristic outfit.

She shuffled through some papers and told us that we needed to fill out some forms before being interrogated. We went to the bar area and proceeded to fill out the forms. The questions made no sense at all, much to the chagrin of my grumpy Russian friend.

Luckily there was wine in plastic cups on hand to make it all worthwhile.

After filling out the forms we were assigned to different “lockets” to be asked questions.

I was ushered to a table where I was given a series of Rorschach inkblot test, the results of which were recorded into a notebook.

This one is clearly a picture of my parents fighting.

Next I was asked a series of questions by a Finnish guy who kept slipping and reading the questions in Finnish.

I answered them anyway and the answers were duly noted.

We were given drawings to write our own captions under:

And captions to do drawings under:

And all amidst a sort of 1984 theme:

With a fabulous funky bar behind it:

THAT my friends, is how you do Modern Art. Sure it made no sense, but it was good fun. And there were drinks. And laughs. Try getting that out of a plastic bag blowing in the wind!!.....

03 March 2009

So I was out for my run today and from about 100 meters away saw what I thought to be either a kitten or a black plastic bag in distress. I got closer and it turned out it was a pigeon (see above - ha! I love my new pink camera). I don't know exactly what was wrong with her but she seemed to not be doing well. She was standing in one place and sort of staring at a wall and wobbling a bit. When she let me pick her up and wrap her in my sweaty horrible running scarf, I knew she was feeling poorly.

I bundled her up and carried her home passing by neighbors who had seen me carry a legion of cats in the past and even once witnessed me running to the vet holding an ailing rat. So no one even raised an eyebrow at the pigeon. I'm sure by now the neighbors are thinking, "We need to see you holding a baby elephant whilst riding a Great White Shark before you'll get any attention from us, lady".

As luck would have it, our local Vogelasiel (bird sanctuary) is only a 5 minute drive away so we rushed her there where she was fed (they put a tube down her throat, but I wasn't quick enough to get a photo), and given a private suite as she waits to see the doctor later.

So I'm glad she's being looked after. She's in a nice room with other wounded birds...

...And eventually when she gets better she'll be in a lovely transitional cage outside...